


Linger

by joannabelle



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Smut, drug references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joannabelle/pseuds/joannabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a dull day in Angband, Gothmog decides Lord Sauron needs to loosen up a bit.  Crack, PWP, the usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Linger

**Disclaimer:**  All these wonderful characters are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien - I own nothing, and make no money off this.

* * *

**Title:**  Linger

**Rating:**  M

**Summary:**  On a dull day in Angband, Gothmog decides Lord Sauron needs to loosen up a bit.

This is total crack, and just a PWP excuse tbh. I'm sorry, in advance.

**Warnings:**  Sex, drug references, Angbang rubbish.

* * *

The first sign that something was amiss in Angband was the sight of a lone and naked Orc stumbling across the entrance of the kingdom's imposing black gates.

Frowning slightly as he made his way back through the barricades, Melkor dismissed the strange occurrence as a matter of inevitability. Maybe they had run out of armour with the recent climb in Orc populations in the stronghold – he made a mental note to see whether there were any oversupplies that could be put on order.

Swinging Grond over his shoulder, Melkor chuckled to himself as he envisaged an army of Elves' shocked faces if he sent his troops out to the battlefield sans clothes. Could be a useful battle strategy, the distraction would buy them time … He made a mental note to bring it up to Mairon at their next planning meeting.

As he strutted towards the castle in the way only those Mightiest of the Valar could strut, he thought he heard the faint bellow of a horn.

Odd... The Orcs were not due for horn-blowing practice for at least another ten moons.

Shrugging it off, Melkor continued in stride. Few Orcs there were on patrol this evening – in fact, there were none. His saunter across the front lawn had not once cut into the path of a single clothed and on-duty Orc, not least the pairs they usually toured in. Maybe there was a horn-blowing contest taking place after all, and he had missed the notice.

Indeed, he granted, there  _was_  much blowing of horns to be heard as he approached the ominous silver doors barring entrance to Angband's main stronghold. The odd explosion, too, rattled the empty chains strung along the stone walls of the façade – a sorry result of their current dry spell of imprisoned Elven royalty.

Pausing for a moment, Melkor wondered if they were under attack.

And a split second later, he wondered that – if this were the case – why in his own name he had not been informed.

With an index finger Melkor pushed open the thick silver doors, and blinked in mild perplexity at the scene before him.

Inside the main hall Orcs were scrabbling left and right, knocking into one another and swearing. Behind them in the distance, Melkor could see bright bursts of red light from what could only be a Balrog's flame.

Swanning further into Angband's mighty fortress, Melkor expected to find that it had been taken over by a furious army of elves. He tried to spot the group responsible for the chaos, and headed further into the thicket of the crowd.

As he rounded the corner into the main hall, however, the real source of the commotion gave Melkor a slight shock.

Inside the large and usually cavernous room, Orcs were surging in a twisting black throng of bodies, their hands adorned with large glasses of ale. Further into the crowd, Melkor could see two tall Balrogs at the other end batting a young Elf prisoner toward one another with long sticks of melded steel.

And from the middle of the ceiling, hooked upside-down by his knees like a bat, hung his revered lieutenant, Sauron.

Sauron's arms were stuck out horizontal from his sides as though he was trying to fly, and his bright red hair was tangled where it strung against his black cloak, both of which were stretching past the Maia's head towards the room below.

"What the …" Melkor begun.

Despite his quiet utterance, and beyond any sense of logic, Mairon appeared to be the sole occupant in the hall to have heard him, as his head shot up – or, well, down … – and he looked the Vala straight in the eyes.

"Melkor!" Mairon exclaimed, a grin splitting across his reddening face. " … How goes you?"

Perilously the Lieutenant swung, and for a moment Melkor's famed wit failed him, as no response came forth his lips.

After a few silent seconds – punctured by a loud crash as the main dining table caved under the weight of four-dozen Orcs – Melkor re-formed the ability to speak.

"What on Arda are you doing, Mairon?" He asked, bewildered. This whole scene seemed so very strange. Usually it was himself – Master of Angband, Melkor: He Who Arises In Might – who started Kingdom-wide raves. And even then, he only did it to irritate the Elves down-wind of the noise.

Sauron had always been so … well … such a stick in the mud. Complaining about him turning up with Silmarils, whining at him that he was ruining his health when he ordered them set into his majestic crown. In comparison, this current behaviour – hanging from ceilings and letting his hair get tangled – was ever so slightly out of character.

"I'm flying!" The Maia affirmed, and he sent his Master a bright smile.

Melkor's frown deepened – Mairon  _never_  smiled.

In fact, Melkor was beginning to find this whole situation rather unnerving. Not that as the Mightiest and most Powerful of the Valar it was possible for him to feel unnerved.

"Mairon, get down from there." Melkor instructed. "What is the meaning of this debauchery?"

An Orc to his left jeered, "Lieutenant Mairon has been instructing us in ways of the heart, my lord!"

Melkor blanched.

"Ways of the what – what ridicule is this, Sauron? That you now make a mockery of my legion?" His mood was beginning to sour, as he glared up at the red-faced and swaying Maia that hung from his favourite chandelier like an unstable vampire – which, Melkor supposed, he was. A vampire, that is, who was about to get his teeth knocked in.

The pair of Balrogs, halting now in their game of Bat The Elf as they realised their Master had returned, blinked over in Mairon's direction with sudden guilt.

"Melkor, Melkor … as your Lieutenant, mock you I would never!" Mairon crowed with a distinct slur, and his arms soared at his sides, "I was simply demonstrating a powerful team-building activity for our company!"

Below him, a faithful – albeit rather miserable-looking – Orc hovered with his arms outstretched, preparing for the catch.

"What?" Melkor balked, as he realised there was no longer any possible chance his Lieutenant was sober. That he dared become intoxicated off Melkor's watch, however, further darkened his thoughts. "Mairon, you do not so much as drink the ale I offer you! How have you become so well-oiled?"

But it appeared Mairon was now absorbed in trying to scoop his flaming hair into a large bun atop his head.

From behind Melkor, there was the tentative clearing of a throat.

"Errr … my lord." Ventured the taller of the two Balrogs with caution.

"Gothmog," Melkor waved with distraction, his eyes still focused on the disheveled Lieutenant, who had given up on his hair and begun to trail his ring-adorned fingers along his stomach.

Melkor considered the situation for a minute, as Gothmog raised and lowered a long and pointed finger behind Melkor's back, trying to think of something to say.

"I wondered when this day would come." Melkor remarked finally, still staring at the ceiling and watching as Sauron became increasingly interested in caressing himself.

"Ah well, such a loss," the Vala sighed. "But not to be helped. I suppose it was only a matter of time before he snapped; he always was so irate …"

Sensing the impending doom of Lieutenant Mairon's previously-victorious reign, Gothmog's face began to take on an expression of horror, and quickly he jumped in: "No! No, my lord, please. There is a chance that Lieutenant Mairon may simply be … how would thy term it … a mere victim?"

A second ripened in silence.

"What do you mean?" Melkor's enquired, his voice softening like silk. Gothmog could taste the distinct tinge of a threat in the words.

"Wh-what I mean to say is … he … it … " At the glare Melkor now directed him, Gothmog's head began to retreat back into the cocoon of his great fiery neck.

He nudged his mute Balrog companion with a pointed elbow, but the beast could offer no more support than to open and close his mouth. Useless.

Melkor took a cool step toward them. "Do you withhold knowledge from me, Gothmog? Elrian?" He asked silkily, glaring both captains in the eye.

At the silence that answered their Lord of Darkness, Gothmog felt the sinking realisation that this response was wanting on him alone. And so he gathered his courage, as one would prepare for war – in which, thankfully, he was well learned.

"My lord … he had just been so vile as of late, and … there is this  _substance_  some of the Orcs stumbled across not five moons past, near the Greenwood Forest. How it made the Elves act giddy and gay … I …" Gothmog winced, throwing a scowl at his silent companion. "That is to say,  _we_  decided that Lieutenant Mairon may benefit -"

"My thighs are glittering." Mairon piped in from above the inquisition.

Melkor glanced up at the plastered Maia just in time to witness Sauron's legs finally give way and slip off the side of the chandelier.

Before the Orc below had any time to prepare, one of Melkor's long arms had snatched Mairon out of the air mid-fall, catching him against his chest.

"Oof!"

The Balrogs' eyes widened and Gothmog's mouth snapped shut, as the throng of Orcs around them descended into silence, watching in sudden interest for the aftermath of their Lieutenant's graceless and indecent plummet upon their Lord.

"Ever I am thankful for the width of your arms, my lord," Mairon beamed, with a very un-Mairon-like expression. Melkor, used to the Maia's glares, felt further unsettled.

With haste he made sure to let the Maia drop the rest of the way to the ground, and smirked with satisfaction as the grin was ripped off Sauron's face.

He had a strange urge to shove his tongue between the Lieutenant's pouting lips.

"Gothmog," he barked, turning back to the cowering Balrog. "You had better hope this ailment passes, for if he is not returned at the first light of morn I will have  _both_  of your heads served for breakfast."

If it were possible for a Balrog to swoon, Gothmog would have seen it fit.

Satisfied he had sparked suitable terror into the Balrog's burning heart, Melkor grabbed the legless Maia and dragged him forcibly out of the hall.

Somewhere in the background, Thuringwethil let out a derisive snort.

* * *

As they rounded the corner, Morgoth felt what little restraint he had finally snap.

Without warning, he grabbed Mairon roughly at the waist and spun him around until their chests crashed into each other.

"Wait, I have 'til first ligh–"

Taking advantage of Sauron's momentary confusion and non-existent balance, Melkor clenched his fists into the fiery red hair at Mairon's temples and silenced him with a fervent and suffocating kiss.

Mairon responded instantly. Melkor felt himself pulled to a stoop as Mairon's arms were thrown around his neck, and the Maia eagerly yanked Melkor down to his height. Unfortunately, Melkor noted, it would seem Mairon's intoxication made him no less demanding.

"Mairon," Melkor groused into the kiss, "one day I am going to receive a permanent back injury from you." Even to his own ears, the complaint sounded rather weak.

Mairon laughed roughly against his lips. "Oh, I could only hope to mark you so  _clearly_ , lord."

Melkor slammed him against the wall, effectively knocking the breath out of Sauron's laugh. He swallowed the Maia's pained gasp in another searing kiss.

And knowing full well that Sauron  _hated_  being picked up ' _like an Elf-Maid_ ', Melkor grabbed the Maia by the buttocks and hoisted him up until Mairon's legs, too, were tangled around his waist.

Mairon tugged on his hair.

"No … Melkor–  _oh_!" Melkor twisted the Maia's taught nipple through his tunic as he reached down and slipped his hands up the underside of Mairon's shirt. Mairon arched against him. And, panting, he further exposed his neck, his eyelashes fluttering and lips parted as he let Melkor run soft, wet kisses across the base of his jaw.

"Oh Valar … I think I'm burning … everywhere, it …" Mairon babbled, apparently still incapable of anything aside from talking and clutching at Melkor's back like a drowning child.

Melkor had not come here for a conversation.

"Are you planning…" Melkor bit hard at the juncture under Mairon's left ear, and felt Mairon jerk against him, "to narrate …" he dragged the Maia's earlobe between his teeth, heard the shuddering breath hitch against his ears, "… this entire thing?" and his thick hand reached its prize, pressing firmly against Mairon's throbbing, clothed erection.

As an answer, Sauron swore and thrust his face into Melkor's chest.

He felt the small Maia shift his in arms, as Mairon tried to rut himself against Melkor's hand with the abandon of a wanton, sex-deprived tart. And though Melkor was now certain he would never let his Lieutenant live down this night, he secretly sent out a thought of appreciation to whoever had created such a  _splendid_  substance.

He could hear Mairon's heart thumping wildly through his chest and, momentarily, he thought the Maia might faint on him, as he began to undo Mairon's trousers to wrap a hand around the redhead's leaking cock.

Under his hands he felt the Lieutenant melt against the stone wall, his delicate lips parted and gasping.

It was then that Melkor recalled how very close they still were to the hall. So much so that a rogue Orc or twelve could indeed stumble down the corridor at any moment, and find them – Sauron's hair tangled in front of his face in complete disarray, tunic torn and cock thrusting into Melkor's curled fist.

Well, it was not the most becoming of positions for the Master of Angband to be found in, not least for his Lieutenant.

And on a normal day this would be fine, and he would have watched Mairon come right there in the corridor; and it was not as though it had not been done before. Except that on those occasions Mairon was not making such  _noises_. Breathy moans pattered with very, very audible gasps, which ran down the stone hall with no hint of subtlety.

The last thing Melkor desired was Gothmog stumbling across the two – this would lessen the sting of his cruel glare on the march out of the hall, and he wished the Balrog to be shaken with fear while he decided on punishment.

So, with the impatience of an evil overlord sporting a raging erection and disheveled, half-delirious whore in their arms, Melkor let go of the Maia without warning – Mairon groaning in abject rage – and unceremoniously dragged him through the fortress to his bedchambers.

* * *

Unfortunately, their brief interlude had resulted in a return of Mairon's ability to form words.

"My lord, I …"

Melkor did not attempt a reply, busying himself in the hasty removal of Mairon's trousers, while he – in a brilliant feat of multi-tasking he was sure was exclusive only to the Mightiest of the Valar – continued to palm Mairon with his right hand.

"It's rather chilled in here, no? Perhaps I can kindle a fire, I –  _Melkor_  … I …"

It was like someone had unplugged the stopper in Sauron's throat that held in all of his thoughts, and now all of Arda was forced to pay the price.

Desiring nothing more than to shove Mairon's wet little mouth upon his aching cock, Melkor remembered with distaste how much the Maia enjoyed narrating that particular job too.

Why he had chosen such a high-maintenance Lieutenant oft escaped him.

Realising there was only one real way to shut Mairon up, Morgoth decided upon an alternative route. Throwing Mairon back onto the dark sheets of his bed – the Lord of Arda would never drop to his  _knees_  – Melkor bent down and ran his tongue up the length of Mairon's twitching shaft.

Ah, blessed silence –

" _Melkor_!"

Close enough. Words of worship were acceptable, he supposed. He swirled his tongue around the tip.

"M-melkor," The Maia was gasping his name continuously at this point, almost without taking a moment to breathe.

Pleased with the response, Melkor's tongue continued its ministrations along Sauron's leaking length. He grimaced as he tasted the wetness that was pooling upon the head of the cock, but was spurned on by another loud keen that fell out of Mairon's throat at the sensation.

Melkor briefly wondered whether his decision to move them to his bedchambers had made any remote difference as to how much of this was being overheard, as Mairon's cries bordered on a symphony.

Sauron was now positively writhing upon the sheets.

If there was a prize for best blowjob in Arda, Melkor realised he would win that too.

Ready to throw this knowledge in Mairon's face, Melkor decided to utilise some of Lieutenant's own techniques against him. Pulling his head back until Mairon's tip just brushed against his lips, he grasped the Maia's shaft with his right hand and began to slide it along the length. Bobbing his head, Melkor found an easy rhythm as he swirled his tongue around the tip of Mairon's cock, his hand working in accord, twisting every now and then over the tip.

"Uhh,  _yes_ … I cant –  _oh, Valar_ , I cant –"

Sauron's hands tangled  _hard_  into Melkor's hair, the drug strengthening his abandon as his hips began to thrust in earnest and his breaths began to shorten into gasps.

Melkor shifted his hips against the mattress below him, his own erection disgustingly engorged, and he was forced to reach down with his spare hand to relieve some of the pressure.

Sauron seemed to be enjoying the personal attention far too much, in his opinion – though, watching Mairon come undone was surprisingly glorious.

The redhead's cheeks were stained a deep pink, and his eyelids were fluttering as though caught in a breeze. The breath that had been caught in the Maia's throat was now stuttering and shallow, and Melkor could tell he was very close.

Naturally, Melkor pulled away.

" _WHAT_!" Sauron spat,  _furious_ , and let out a string of curses so vile that Melkor frowned. Where had he learned … oh.

Chuckling to himself, Melkor spit upon his left hand, and with Mairon distracted by his fury in one fluid motion pressed a finger inside Mairon's hole, curling and stabbing at the one little spot that always –

A spot of black flashed across his vision, and Mairon's swears were cut off as his back arched off the mattress, and Melkor blinked, frowning, but reached for Mairon's cock.

And in a keening shout, Melkor watched as Mairon lost himself, cock twitching in his hand as he continued to press his finger up into the Maia, who had thrown an arm across his face in some barely-remembered virtue and was spilling himself all over his stomach.

Melkor decided next time this happened he would call an audience, as, really, he deserved some applause.

Without waiting for Sauron to recover, he climbed up the prone Maia and reached forward to remove his arm with a blackened hand.

Mairon's lips, now thoroughly bitten, shone from their kissing – swollen, parted, red. Everything about him was a muddle of gold and crimson as the Maia stared up at him with glazed but burning eyes.

If the Valar had ever enquired as to why he had chosen to steal this particular Maia from their grasp, he would naught but have had shown them this single image of Mairon's face.

He reached towards Mairon's hair.

His vision flickered, but for a second, to black.

And then, before he could stop it, before he could reach forwards and right himself – Mairon's face began to swirl, twisting and curling like an undone blossom into a blinding coil of red, black and gold.

* * *

With a jerking gasp, Melkor's eyes ripped open, as he was thrust out his reverie.

Blinking blindly for a few seconds, he wondered where he was, as in each direction he glanced he could see naught but a deep dark nothingness.

Gone were the faded noises of a party long forgotten, and he could no longer hear the frantic beat of Mairon's heart. Instead, a perpetual silence lingered in his ears, peppered solely by his own, tense breaths.

The bright image of Mairon's flushed face and dazed golden eyes flashed again in front of him. But, within a few fleeting moments, it slowly began to fade.

And as his breathing slowed to still, the numb reality clicked back into place.

He knew where he was.

* * *

Fin.


End file.
